


Alien Shores

by zombified_queer



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: (Even though I've never read a single book in that series), Eventual Happy Ending, Fuck what the canon said, Gor inspired, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Marriage of Convenience, One-sided pining, Romance, imperfect relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-09
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-28 13:05:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16242218
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zombified_queer/pseuds/zombified_queer
Summary: Remata'Klan refuses to be part of the Vorta's amusements. Adamantly refuses. Even if he feels something for Keevan.





	Alien Shores

The Vorta was infuriating. He knew just what to say and how to say it until Remata'Klan wanted nothing more than to wrap his hand around the Vorta's throat.  
But that wasn't the way things were done.  
"Third Remata'Klan," Keevan croons, laying on his side, watching the Jem'Hadar. "You know I like you more than the Second."  
"And yet you warm your bed using the First."  
Keevan raises a brow. His expression is an invitation, but Remata'Klan knows not to drink from such bitter springs.  
"Remata'Klan," Keevan makes his voice soft, "come here."  
"No." Remata'Klan knows his place. The Vorta will only use him to stir up trouble on the ship to provide some sadistic excitement on these long patrols while they await new orders. "You have one Jem'Hadar to satisfy you."  
Keevan smiles. "You win."  
The Vorta sits up, stretching. Remata'Klan would be lying if he said he didn't want to pin the Vorta back in bed and make him scream. But Remata'Klas stands stock still, watching the Vorta dress, each curve or sharp angle of Keevan's body. Remata'Klan swallows.  
"Would it be too much to ask you to eliminate them?" Keevan asks, leaving his shirt partially unbuttoned. "I would prefer your insight as First."  
"It would not be acceptable for me to kill them unless they have committed treason."  
Kevan hums, cupping his own face in thought. "I suppose I'll have to poison their next dose of white."  
Remata'Klan buries the excitement that stirs in him.  
"Your orders?" Remata'Klan asks, watching the Vorta preen.  
"Return to your post," Keevan says. "I'll call you if I need you, Third."

* * *

"Accept this gift from the Founders," Keevan purrs, hand lingering as he hands the vial of white off to the Jem'Hadar first.  
"Sir," Remata'Klan says, taking the vial. "I have reason to believe this Vorta isn't as loyal as he claims."  
"You have permission, Third, to take the first vial," the First says. "If you die, the Vorta dies. If not, you spend the next week on janitorial duties."  
"Understood sir." Remata'Klan watches Keevan narrow his eyes. "My life in your service."  
"As it should be."  
Remata'Klan allows the white to surge through his veins. It would be a blessing to die and have his final vision be Keevan's broken neck. he tube in his throat stops pumping, the white in his blood.  
He doesn't die.  
Keevan prefers to preen in areas he knows Remata'Klan is cleaning, violet eyes wandering over the Jem'Hadar's broad chest, his biceps.  
"Bastard," Remata'Klan hisses.  
"Fool," Keevan snarls.

Remata'Klan thinks nothing of himself, his pulse racing as he struggles through the wreckage for the Vorta. When he lifts Keevan, something firm shifts under Remata'Klan's touch, broken bones, perhaps.  
"Remata'Klan," Keevan hisses.  
"Do not speak," Remata'Klan groans, holding the Vorta close to his chest. "Conserve your energy."  
"The case."  
"Fourth can carry it," Remata'Klan says. "I'm carrying you."  
"It's not worth it," Keevan wheezes. "I'm going to die and they'll activate the next clone. It's fine."  
"Fool," Remata'Klan snarls. "You are still alive."  
Keevan rests his head on Remata'Klan's chest, dozing off. For a moment, Remata'Klan worries, wondering if he should wake the Vorta, but he doesn't want to jostle him.  
There's a cave close to the shore, a makeshift shelter. He lays Keevan on one of the flatter rocks. In a single, fluid movement, Remata'Klan removes his armor, draping it over the Vorta while Keevan sleeps.  
When he's sleeping, there's a certain peace on the Vorta's face. Remata'Klan's tempted to wipe the sweat from Keevan's brow, press lips to the Vorta's forehead.  
He settles for checking his pulse.  
"Third?"  
Remata'Klan turns.  
Fourth tosses the ketracel case down, the metal clanging on the stone.  
Keevan wakes with a start, sitting up too fast and hissing.  
When Fourth makes a move to draw his blade, Remata'Klan gras him by the bicep.  
"Not yet," Remata'Klan says. "He's yet to tell me how to open the case."  
"We should be putting him out of his misery."  
"Not until he asks," Remata'Klan says. "And he has not asked."  
"Fine."  
"Go find the others," Remata'Klan says. "We will regroup here."  
"Fine."  
Only when Fourth is gone, does Keevan speak. "He was right."  
"And I was right too." Remata'Klan eyes the Vorta.  
Keevan tosses Remata'Klan's armour at the Jem'Hadar. "Get dressed."  
Remata'Klan pulls on his armour. "Don't tell me to open the case."  
"Why?"  
"I'm saving your life, you fool."  
"Why?" Keevan narrows his eyes.  
"Because . . . as the highest ranking Jem'Hadar, you become my bed warmer," Remata'Klan says. "And since you are mine, I refuse to let you throw your individual life away."  
"I'm glad you care," Keevan hisses.  
"You are welcome." Remata'Klan zips up his armour.  
For a moment, they glare at each other. Keevan's stare is cold, icy, trying to mask the pain he's in. Remata'Klan's is cool, even.  
He has a passing thought that the sound of the waves might be considered romantic under other circumstances. Gingerly, Remata'Klan reaches for the Vorta, assessing Keevan's injuries.  
"That hurts, fuck off," Keevan hisses.  
"I want to know you didn't break a rib," Remata'Klan growls. "Now hold still."  
Keevan does, but he breathes shallowly, hissing and clutching at Rematak'Klan's wrist. "Stop it."  
"Sorry." Remata'Klan kisses Keevan's cheek. "No broken ribs, I don't think."  
"Go salvage some painkillers if you're going to torture me," Keevan begs.  
"Will you be alright by yourself?" Remata'Klan asks.  
"I'll be fine," Keevan growls. "Just get something to make this stop."  
Remata'Klan leaves Keevan there, the Vorta laying back on the stone, eyes closed.

* * *

When the hypospray hisses against his neck, Keevan opens his eyes. There's some delirium there Remata'Klan's not sure how to handle.  
"We're setting up a communication relay," Remata'Klan reports. "But we have another issue."  
"What?"  
"The Starfleet officers are also on this planet. We've had three encounters with them so far," Remata'Klan reports. "And we've taken account of the dead."  
"First and Second?"  
"Both dead."  
Keevan hums.  
"We need the white."  
"Right," Keevan hisses. "Your ketracel."  
Remata'Klan brings Keevan the case, the Vorta unlocking it. Keevan takes account before handing over a single vial.  
"You'll excuse me if I dispense with formalities?"  
"Of course," Remata'Klan says, taking the vial. "Rest."  
"Remata'Klan?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Once you've given the white to your men I want to speak privately."  
"Understood."  
Remata'Klan takes the vial, managing to divide it between the two men suffering from shakes already. The rest of the men aren't content, but they accept Remata'Klan's decision.  
Returning to the cave, Remata'Klan begins work on a campfire, hoping it will keep the men's morale high as well as keep Keevan warm.  
"How long will the communication relay take?" Keevan asks quietly.  
"Ten days," Remata'Klan says. When the embers come to life, he feels some small joy.  
"There's not enough white to last," Keevan says. "Most of it's been used up. We were supposed to resupply, had Starfleet not intervened."  
Remata'Klan gets to his feet, taking one of the Vorta's hands in his own. "The men want to kill the Terrans."  
"They'll turn on each other. Kill you," Keevan says. "Kill me."  
"I would die in your defense."  
"Then you'll be dead," Keevan says.  
"The Captain has made me an offer. I can extend it to you." Remata'Klan looks toward the back of the cave. "There's another way out, a tunnel. It would bring us close to their encampment."  
"No," Keevan says firmly.  
"No?"  
"I want to sleep."  
"We're going to attack them in two days," Remata'Klan tells Keevan. "I can take you tomorrow."  
"Maybe," Keevan says, but he doesn't look at Remata'Klan.  
"Are you cold? Hungry?"  
"Neither," Keevan answers. "Tired."  
"Then rest," Remata'Klan says.

* * *

Before the attack, Remata'Klan kisses Keevan awake.  
"Why?" Keevan asks, eyes wide in the pre-dawn dark.  
"In case I die," Remata'Klan says. He pulls his blade from his hip. It's serrated, wickedly so, and meant for the Jem'Hadar to take their life, should they be captured. And now he offers it to Keevan. "Here."  
"You want me to take my life for you?"  
"No, Keevan." Remata'Klan takes in every inch of Keevan's face, committing the Vorta to memory. "To defend yourself, should you need to."  
"I'll be fine."  
"Take it."  
"No," Keevan insists.  
Remata'Klan rolls his eyes, leaving the knife within the Vorta's reach. "Victory is life."  
He heads out into the lightening dawn before Keevan can repeat the phrase.  
The battle itself, he doesn't remember much of. He remembers the incinerated men around him, each Jem'Hadar going down so easily it seems impossible.  
When the phaser's turned on him, Remata'Klan does not die. He clings to consciousness, fighting the pain.  
"Do not hurt him," Remata'Klan begs.  
"We won't."  
He's not sure who's said it, but he feels the shot that sends him unconscious, pain burning through him.

* * *

He wakes up in the brig.  
"Remata'Klan?"  
"Keevan?"  
"You're alive?"  
"Are you in any pain?"  
Keevan's in the cell to his left and it pains the Jem'Hadar that the Vorta would be a prisoner. Remata'Klan leans against the adjoining bulkhead, closing his eyes.  
"They fixed me," Keevan assures Remata'Klan. "I'm alright."  
"Keevan?"  
"Hmmm?"  
"They spared us."  
"They want informants," Keevan said. "Don't worry about it."  
"Did you make a deal with them?"  
"I might have."  
Remata'Klan sighs.  
"I wanted them to spare you."  
Remata'Klan blinks, looking at the adjoining bulkhead. "I asked, before they shot me, not to harm you."  
Keevan laughs bitterly. "We're both sentimental defectives."  
"Keevan, if I was to propose a relationship, would you oppose my offer?"  
"I don't know."  
Remata'Klan laughs. "Keevan, get some rest."  
"Only if you do too."  
"Deal."

* * *

Remata'Klan's brought out of his cell, cuffed with steel cuffs. He manages to sneak a look at Keevan, who looks pale and tired, but not pained or bruised.  
"I'll be back," Remata'Klan assures Keevan.  
"I'll count the seconds," Keevan replies.  
He's brought by the ensign back to the mess hall. The human captain is a force of authority, no-nonsense but willing to be generous, it seems.  
Remata'Klan sits across from the captain.  
"You must be suffering withdrawal," Sisko says.  
"Not as badly now. I've . . . sobered up a bit," Remata'Klan admits.  
Sisko sets a vial of ketracel in front of Remata'Klan. He nods for the Jem'Hadar to take it. Once the white's in his blood, it feels easier to think, his head clearer.  
"What's going to happen to Keevan?"  
"I understand the two of you are involved."  
Remata'Klan scoffs. "Keevan's got you fooled if you think we've been sexuall intimate."  
Sisko looks away for a moment. "We're willing to offer you asylum on Deep Space Nine. It would be safer than the heart of the Federation."  
"You want informants."  
Sisko nods. "We'd prefer to keep the two of you on the front lines, helping decode messages, predict troop movements."  
"Keevan hasn't helped," Remata'Klan notes. "You wouldn't be asking me if he did."  
"That's right."  
"If I help, will he stay with me?"  
"As long as we can keep him," Sisko explains. "But unless the two of you are married, he'll be considered a prisoner of war and, should any exchanges be authorized by the Federation, he'll be a viable candidate to trade."  
"But you'll keep him as long as you can?"  
"Yes."  
"I'll do it."  
"Thank you, Remata'Klan." Sisko reaches over, unlocking the cuffs. "Ensign Powell will show you to your new quarters."

* * *

The work on the station is boring, more or less. He works with Kira (and Remata'Klan likes the Bajoran but when she'd taken him to the ground in a moment of instinct, he'd liked her even more) and the captain (Sisko was benevolent to his allies, which Remata'Klan could respect) to track troops, charting paths and working on defensive strategies.  
When he had a free moment, he'd take on Engineering work, offering Dominion specs to O'Brien, who seemed thrilled to have another cloaking device to decipher.  
But the most infuriating was the doctor, who seemed intent on curing Remata'Klan's addiction more than actually helping him. Every test discouraged the doctor more and more and, thankfully, Remata'Klan could go long periods between doses, using the Ferengi to keep a bit of ketracel handy.  
He often spent time visiting Keevan, usually two hours at a time after work.  
"You're always gloating," Keevan notes.  
"You're always brooding," Remata'Klan replies. "They need someone fluent in Vorta."  
Keevan rolls his eyes. "Do I look like a linguist?"  
"You look like a Vorta," Remata'Klan replies, fighting a smile.  
Keevan goes back to his data padd, reading it quietly.  
"If we were enjoined, you could be released," Remata'Klan says. "We'd be together."  
"You're a targ," Keevan answers, not looking away from his reading. "Taking advantage of a Vorta like this? Horrible."  
"I'm offering for your safety, Remata'Klan says. "Plus my bed would be more comfortable."  
That makes Keevan look up.  
"I could take the couch," Remata'Klan says. "The floor."  
"No," Keevan says. "I'm too used to Jem'Hadar bed warmers."  
Remata'Klan blinks. "Keevan . . . I have to go soon."  
"I know."  
"But please consider it. I want to keep you near me."  
"I'll think it over. No promises."

* * *

When he hears about the exchange for the Grand Nagus' wife, Remata'Klan enters Sisko's office.  
"You told me you would avoid trading him."  
"Starfleet's sanctioned this exchange," Sisko answers, not looking up at first.  
Remata'Klan folds his arms over his chest.  
"I don't like it," Sisko admits, "but Keevan's the best bargaining chip we have."  
"What if I married him?" Remata'Klan asks. "Wouldn't that make him a citizen?"  
Sisko looks at Remata'Klan. "You can't force him to marry you."  
"It wouldn't be force," Remata'Klan says firmly. "I'd be saving his life. As soon as the Dominion takes him, they'll kill him and activate the next clone."  
"Why are you so attached to the individual Keevan?"  
Remata'Klan pauses. Why does he love this Keevan? Was it the amount of time they'd spent together? Was is the way Keevan's pain on that planet made Remata'Klan terrified in spite of all his conditioning? Or maybe it was Keevan's terror now, a prisoner and a bargaining chip?  
"Why do other humanoids love something that only lasts one lifetime?" Remata'Klan answers.  
Sisko nods. "I see."  
"It is my nature to protect him first, with little regard to my own comfort or health."  
"If he'll agree, I'll officiate," Sisko assures Remata'Klan. "But only if he agrees."  
"We appreciate your kindness, Captain."

* * *

"I won't do it," Keevan hisses. "You set me up."  
"Don't be spoiled," Remata'Klan growls. "They're going to trade you off, let the Dominion kill you."  
"And? The moment we're officially joined, you'll just want to fuck me."  
"So?" Remata'Klan asks. "You constantly needed a Jem'Hadar bedwarmer. I'm offering myself to be a bed warmer and bodyguard. All you need to do is say yes, Keevan."  
The Vorta turns away from Remata'Klan. It's frustrating knowing this Vorta cares so little about both himself and Remata'Klan's feelings. He's so willing to go to his own execution he forgot to consider the alternative.  
"Keevan," Remata'Klan breaks first, voice softer. "Keevan, please. I care deeply about you. Allow me to be selfish, just once."  
"What happens after we're joined?" Keevan doesn't face him.  
"After we're joined, I intend to keep you close to me," Remata'Klan says. "But I'm doing this to save your life more than for my own pleasure."  
"And if I wanted, say, Julian in my bed?" Keevan asks.  
"Then I would ensure you were safe with him," Remata'Klan says. "If you desire him, then I will ensure you have him."  
"What if I wanted the Changeling?"  
"Odo?" Remata'Klan scoffs. "I doubt he likes sex, but I would allow him to embrace you."  
Keevan turns, facing Remata'Klan, a brow raised. "You're such a whipped dog."  
"I'd do anything to keep you safe." Remata'Klan folds his arms over his chest.  
"Promise me one thing."  
"Anything."  
Keevan steps closer to the hardlight barrier keeping them apart. "Once you're satisfied with this gallows marriage, I would like a proper ceremony."  
"Then you'll have it," Remata'Klan assures him. "A proper joining, I swear it."  
Keevan wave his hand dismissively. "Get the captain before I change my mind."

* * *

It's done. Sisko officiates while Keevan's in metal shackles. Remata'Klan takes the Vorta's hand in his own, suppressing the rage that boils in his chest.  
"I do," Keevan whispers, looking up at Remata'Klan.  
The Jem'Hadar takes Keevan's face in both hands, kissing him gently, relishing in how soft the Vorta's mouth is. He pulls away, letting Odo unlock the cuffs, releasing Keevan to Remata'Klan.  
"To our quarters," Remata'Klan says softly, putting an arm around Keevan's waist.  
"Sure."

* * *

"You win, Remata'Klan." Keevan’s seated in the armchair in the living room. He doesn't look up, instead staring at the plant on the coffee table, some succulent or another, the only colour in the grey-white of the room.  
"If you do not wish to consummate our union, then we'll abstain," Remata'Klan says firmly. "My intent was not to hurt you."  
"I know." Keevan's left fingers trace his right wrist, the rawness of his skin from the metal restraints.  
Remata'Klan takes the Vorta's chin firmly in his hand. "I needed to keep you safe from the Federation. You're not their currency."  
"And yet," Keevan hisses, eyes cold, "you treat me like a doll."  
"Porcelain is very beautiful," Remata'Klan snaps in reply, trying to keep a hold on his temper. "But it shatters easily with enough force."  
The anger in Keevan's eyes dissolves into something more raw, more wounded. He blinks, looking away from the Jem'Hadar even though his pulse quickens in Remata'Klan's grasp.  
Remata'Klan lets go of the Vorta. "My vow to you is the same as it was on that planet. I will not harm you. If consummating our relationship will do you any harm, even emotionally, I won't go through with it."  
"They're expecting us to—"  
"It doesn't matter," Remata'Klan says firmly. "We lie, if we must."  
Keevan sighs, wrapping his arms around himself. Remata'Klan removes his coat, draping it over the Vorta. Keevan's stare drops to the small plant again. "Will you take my side on anything?"  
Remata'Klan hums the affirmative.  
"Even if I made a false claim?" Keevan asks, looking up curiously.  
"I will stand by your word and honor it as my own." Remata'Klan wants so much to touch the Vorta, to embrace him. "Even if your claim was false."  
Keevan nods. "Carry me to bed?"  
Remata'Klan picks the Vorta up with ease, arms supporting the Vorta's back, his thighs. Keevan's body warm against Remata'Klan's chest. The Vorta leans his head against Remata'Klan's shoulder.  
Once Remata'Klan lays Keevan in bed, the Vorta grasps his wrist. Hard.  
"Yes?"  
"I want to consummate our bond," Keevan admits.  
Remata'Klan, with his other hand, cups the Vorta's cheek, noting the way Keevan flinches. "I won't be rough with you. Relax."  
Keevan looks up, violet eyes unsure, as if this is the first time he's been reassured. He lets go of Remata'Klan's wrist.  
"First was rough with you."  
Remata'Klan takes more care with Keevan. He's gentle in undoing the clasps of the Vorta's uniform, starting with the shirt. Keevan's hand grabs Remata'Klan's, making the Jem'Hadar stop.  
"Shirt on," Keevan says. "Lights lowered."  
"I understand," Remata'Klan says. He takes the Vorta's face in both hands, kissing him gently. Keevan doesn't kiss him back. He doesn't push Remata'Klan off either.

* * *

After it's done, Remata'Klan pulls the Vorta to his chest, relishing in the warmth to Vorta's skin provides. When he hears a sniffle, Remata'Klan looks down, finding it easier to see in the near-dark of their bedroom.  
"Did I hurt you?" Remata'Klan asks. "I can take you to—"  
"You didn't fucking hurt me."  
Remata'Klan drags his claws gingerly over the Vorta's back, hoping it might soothe the Vorta.  
"Why are you doing all of this?"  
Remata'Klan laughs, loud and barking in the dark. "You might be a brilliant diplomat, but you're a fool and a blind one at that."  
"Fuck you."  
"I've loved you madly," Remata'Klan says. "I would have killed the whole company to have you."  
"You didn't fuck me before." Keevan's face is wet on the stiff plating of Remata'Klan's bared chest. "And you didn't kill them."  
"Because the Founders would have killed both of us first," Remata'Klan says.  
Keevan's weight and warmth is gone from the Jem'Hadar's side. Remata'Klan lays back in bed, Keevan's weight settling on his hips. He half expects to be used to satisfy the Vorta again, reduced to a living toy under Keevan's hips.  
Instead, the Vorta's hands wrap around his throat. "Why shouldn't I kill you, Remata'Klan?"  
Remata'Klan laughs. "Do you really want to go back and be killed by the Founders?"  
Keevan's grip tightens until Remata'Klan finds himself taking one of the Vorta's wrists and twist until he feels something snap, Keevan screeching. Remata'Klan shoves the Vorta off him, into bed. Keevan curls into himself, growling at the Jem'Hadar.  
"Let me dress you and we'll go to the Infirmary," Remata'Klan says.  
"I hate you."  
Remata'Klan pulls the Vorta's trousers up over Keevan's legs, dressing him carefully. He's grateful, now, the Vorta's demanded to keep his shirt on. There's no way he'd be able to get the fabric on over Keevan's injured wrist. It looks broken to Remata'Klan.  
Once Keevan's decent, Remata'Klan gets himself dressed before picking up the Vorta.  
"I'm not a doll," Keevan hisses.  
"I know."  
Keetan sinks his teeth into Remata'Klan's cheek, but the Jem'Hadar laughs, continuing to carry the Vorta out of their quarters.

* * *

"How?" Julian asks, seeing Keevans wrist.  
"I did it," Remata'Klan says, setting Keevan on a biobed. He moves to back away, but Keevan clutches at him with his good hand.  
"I made him," Keevan says. "He was defending himself."  
Julian nods. He doesn't press, simply mending Keevan's wrist. The Vorta massages it once the doctor's done, always impressed with how easy bones and muscle can be set right again.  
"Is it . . . a mating thing? Like Klingons?"  
"No," Keevan and Remata'Klan answer in unison. They lock eyes for a moment. Remata'Klan turns to Julian. "I was . . . unaware of my own strength against him."  
"I forgive you, Remata'Klan."  
And something in Keevan's tone make Remata'Klan aware he's forgiven for much more than this small incident. He turns, bowing his head. "I am grateful for your forgiveness."  
"Please be more careful," Julian cautious.

* * *

His hand hovers just above the small of Keevan’s back, guiding him back to their quarters without a word. Keevan doesn’t say anything to Remata’Klan either. When they return to their quarters, Remata'Klan is still afraid to touch Keevan, worried he might hurt him again, wondering about the fragility of Vorta. But Keevan’s wrist seems just fine for being broken mere minutes ago.  
It takes some getting used to, this Federation technology that mends instead of replaces.  
Keevan curls up in the armchair, half-dozing.  
"Go to bed," Remata'Klan says.  
"No."  
Remata'Klan sighs, picking up the Vorta. "You're tired."  
"I'm not."  
Remata'Klan, ignoring his protests, carries Keevan to bed. Carefully, Remata'Klan dresses Keevan for bed, relishing in taking care of him, the way the Vorta blinks slowly, dozing off. He tucks Keevan in, kissing the corner of his mouth, letting the Vorta rest.  
Remata'Klan stays up for a while, reading romantic Terran things, trying to determine if he's treating Keevan poorly.

* * *

Remata'Klan wakes up to soft lips on his neck, cool hands fumbling with his clothes. With a grumble, he opens his eyes, looking at the Vorta. Tenderly, he takes Keevan’s wrists, just holding them in one hand. "Keevan?"  
"Hmm?"  
"Are you unhappy with me?” Remata’Klan lets go of the Vorta’s wrists, Keevan going back to toying with Remata’Klan’s clothes. “Would you want someone else?"  
"No," Keevan says. Then the Vorta adds, "Maybe I'd like to try Julian. I hear he has stamina."  
"Then—"  
"I was kidding," Keevan interrupts. "I want you."  
"Do you trust me?" Remata'Klan asks.  
"I do."  
Remata'Klan's careful, pulling Keevan into his lap. Keevan raises a brow, hands settling on Remata'Klan's broad chest.  
"Use me to your pleasure," Remata'Klan says.  
Keevan’s violet stare is warm, for once, as he balances himself in Remata’Klan’s lap. "Oh, I intend to."


End file.
